Bottle It Up
by manicpixiedreamtarantula
Summary: Not all disabilities are pretty or easy to talk about. Harry learns that he's allowed to ask for help anyhow.
1. October 8, 1991

A/N: So this is a fic that came from my own experiences with Ulcerative Colitis, and about the shame that comes along with having a disability that's seen as "gross" or "embarrassing." This fic features frank discussions about bodily functions. You have been warned.

* * *

It was all Harry could do to keep from crying. He tried to focus on the lecture Snape was giving but all he could do was focus on the deep sense of shame that welled up deep in his stomach and throat. He hated himself a little bit at that moment. Any other kid would have been able to raise their hand and ask to go to the bathroom. Or, considering this was Snape's class, hold it until class was over. But Harry never had the luxury of being any other kid.

He gently pressed his hand to the ostomy bag attached to his stomach. It had been over a year since the diagnosis. Since the night when he had been screaming and vomiting so badly that even the Dursley's had to take notice and take him to the hospital. A year since the night that even Vernon and Petunia had sat in a hospital waiting room while Harry had been in surgery, thinking about the child they had never wanted or cared about, realizing that even after everything they didn't want a child under their care, no matter how unloved, to die. A year since he had woken up to be told that he had something called Ulcerative Colitis, and they'd had to remove his colon. Harry remembered the silent way Aunt Petunia had sat with him as the stoma nurse explained that Harry wouldn't be able to go to the bathroom normally anymore, that he would rely on a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. Harry remembered how his aunt looked at him like she didn't know what to do with this newly disabled child that shared her sister's eyes.

But more than anything, Harry remembered the shame. He had learned very quickly that nobody wanted to know about his poo disease. It was gross and embarrassing. Something distasteful that shouldn't be discussed unless absolutely necessary. He remembered the queasy look on Aunt Petunia's face the first week he was home from the hospital when she had to help him change and clean the ostomy bag until he learned to do it himself. His aunt and uncle, by virtue of necessity, had let it be known that Harry was disabled (it was hard to hide an ambulance showing up in the middle of the night, and Harry's teachers had needed to know anyway) but they had made it very clear: Harry's condition was disgusting and shameful. _Harry_ was disgusting and shameful.

Coming to Hogwarts had been a relief. Back in Little Whinging, Harry was the freak with the gross bowel disease that nobody wanted to touch or talk to. But at Hogwarts, no one had to know about his stoma besides the nurse and Dumbledore. He had gotten good at hiding all the equipment needed to change and clean his ostomy bags, and the robes that he wore over his school uniform hid any unsightly bulges better than Dudley's old clothes ever did. It was quite easy to sneak away between classes and at meals so that he could empty his bag of the output without anyone being the wiser. In fact, Harry had gotten quite good at timing the changing and cleaning of his stoma between classes so that he'd never have a reason to need to leave class early. A month into the term and Harry had yet to have a single mishap.

Except for today. Today he and Ron had been in the library for lunch, struggling to finish up their Potions assignment. Usually, Harry emptied his bag after lunch before going to class. But today they were running late. Which meant that Harry didn't have time. Which meant Harry hadn't emptied his bag since breakfast. Which meant if Harry didn't get to a bathroom soon he was going to leak poo all over his shirt in the middle of potions class.

Harry wrapped his robes around his front, making sure they covered the area where his ostomy bag sat. All he could do was pray that class was almost over, and try not to panic and cry before that happened. Harry couldn't remember a time when he had ever felt so embarrassed.

Harry let out a small gasp when he felt it, the tell-tale feeling of liquid on his shirt. He bit down on his lip hard, desperate not to cry. He wasn't going to cry in class. He wasn't.

"You alright, mate?" He heard Ron whisper in his ear. Harry nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"Harry, you're shaking," Ron said.

"'M fine," Harry murmured, keeping his eyes fixed on the desk in front of him. Harry couldn't look at Ron. Because if he looked at Ron, his friend would see the tears in his eyes, and Harry didn't think he'd be able to hide anything.

"Potter! Weasley!" Snape snapped. "What on earth is so important that you feel the need to interrupt my class?"

Harry's head snapped up. Snape was right in front of their desk now. Harry pulled his robe tighter around himself, hoping that Snape wouldn't see what had happened from his position. It was bad enough it had happened in class. He couldn't imagine what would happen if Snape found out.

"Harry's sick, sir," Ron said, and god Harry could kick him.

"Is that so, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked snidely. Harry didn't dare look Snape in the eye. He kept his gaze straight ahead toward's Snape's belly button.

"N-No, sir," Harry said, "I'm fine." It was all he could do to keep his voice steady. He felt another gush of liquid seeping through his shirt and shuddered involuntarily. He kept his robes tight around himself, praying that he could get out of here before he leaked onto those as well. For once he was thankful that he was in the Potion's classroom. All the ingredients and fumes would cover the smell.

"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape said. "Stay after class, Potter."

Harry shut his eyes as Snape walked away. All he could focus on was the chafing against his skin and shame that made his stomach turn. Time seemed to pass too slowly. Harry knew Snape was lecturing but couldn't manage to follow anything that was said.

Finally heard the words he'd been waiting for.

"I want a foot on salamander blood properties before your practical on Friday. Dismissed."

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief and grabbed his bag quickly. If he ran, he could fix it before it got worse.

"Potter," Snape boomed from behind him. "What part of stay after class don't you understand."

Harry froze in place as the last of the students left the room. He couldn't stop the tears anymore, biting down on the inside of his lip as he felt them fall down his face.

"Sir," Harry pleaded. "Please, I really need to go."

"Stop your whinging and turn around Potter."

Harry did so slowly, keeping his robe tucked close to him and his eyes trained on the floor. He refused to let Snape see him cry.

"What are you hiding in your robe," Snape asked.

"N-nothing! I swear!"

"Don't lie to me!" Harry shut his eyes wishing he could stop crying. "Look at me, Potter!"

Harry looked up. Tears were still streaming down his face. It took a Herculean effort for Harry not to break down into full on sobs. Harry couldn't remember another time when he had felt so humiliated.

Snape stepped forward and tugged on the front of Harry's robes, pulling them aside to look at Harry's chest. There was a brown wet stain on his school sweater, just at the waist on Harry's right side. Harry couldn't take it anymore. He burst into sobs. He pulled back from Snape quickly, covering himself with his robe again.

"Calm yourself, Potter," Snape said, but his voice lacked his usual edge. If anything there was uncertainty in his voice. If Harry didn't know any better, he'd call it concern. Apparently, having someone sobbing in your classroom was disconcerting even for the evilest of potions professors. "If you've injured yourself getting into potions ingredients…"

"I didn't!" Harry protested. "I swear I didn't…. I…" Harry could feel the heat on his cheeks. He was sure between the embarrassment and tears his face was nearly as red as Ron's hair. He wiped at his eyes and whispered, "It's my colostomy bag, sir. It leaked. I didn't get a chance to change it."

He couldn't bring himself to look up. There was a tense silence for a moment before Snape spoke.

"I see," Snape said finally. "And you didn't think informing your professor would be prudent?"

"Without you mocking me in front of the whole class? No." Harry bit out.

Snape just fixed him with a hard look, before taking out his wand.

"Scourgify," Snape said, and the stain on Harry's shirt vanished. "Step into my office, Potter. Bring your things."

Harry followed him obediently, taking a seat in the chair Snape was indicating towards.

"Your professors should have been informed of your condition, Mr. Potter," Snape said quietly.

"Madam Pomfrey knows. I… I've got Ulcerative Colitis. Er… rather I did. I used to. But I got really sick and they had to take out the part of my intestine with the disease. So I have a stoma now. And I can't… um… use the bathroom. It all goes into the stoma bag."

"That still doesn't explain why you haven't told anyone about your medical condition," Snape replied.

Harry just sunk in his chair, looking down at his lap. Unconsciously, he put a hand over his stoma. The skin surrounding it was still chafing and irritated from the leak, and the adhesive around the bag had started to come up, making it worse. The bag would still need to be changed soon but at least it wasn't leaking. At least he wasn't sitting in his own filth.

"Cause it's gross," Harry said. "It's gross and weird and embarrassing and I don't want to go around telling everyone that I've got some freaky disease that makes me poo in a bag, alright!"

"It is nothing you can control. Surely you realize that."

Harry shrugged. "People don't want to hear about it. I know how disgusting I am, okay? I don't need everyone else reminding me all the time."

Snape grabbed Harry's chin and forced Harry to look him directly in the eye.

"You are not disgusting," Snape said firmly. "You have a disability and that is nothing to be ashamed about."

Harry didn't know what to say. He pulled back from Snape and fixed his gaze firmly on his lap.

"I don't want anyone to treat me differently."

"So you go it all alone. You've been doing this alone for a long time." It wasn't a question but Harry nodded.

"Harry, you are a child. It is not your responsibility to take this all on yourself. But no one can help you if you don't ask for it. Your real friends, they won't care if it's a bit gross. There is nothing for you to be embarrassed or ashamed of."

Harry looked up at him and felt like he was going to cry all over again.

"You mean that?" Harry asked.

Snape nodded solemnly. "I do."

If someone had told Harry a month ago that he would be having this conversation with his most hated professor, he would have laughed at them. But Harry couldn't bring himself to feel suspicious or embarrassed about the whole thing. Instead, he just felt relieved.

"Thank you, sir," Harry murmured. Snape pulled away and walked over to his desk.

"I'm going to write you a pass to your next class. Clean yourself up. Go to Madam Pomfrey if you feel the need." Snape said. "Tomorrow during lunch you will report here, and I will teach you a cleaning spell and a vanishing spell. I daresay they will be useful to you."

Harry took the pass from Professor Snape and stood.

"Um, Professor Snape?" Harry asked. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

Snape fixed him with an odd look. "You'll find one day, Mr. Potter, that even adults can be wrong about things.

Harry nodded, although he didn't really understand what Snape was getting at.

"Thanks again, Professor," Harry said and slipped out of the room.

* * *

Later that night, Harry got ready for bed as usual. He changed his bag and set the alarm on his watch to wake him up when he needed to empty his bag in the middle of the night. His skin was still a little chafed from earlier, but his shirt remained clean and the irritation would be gone by morning. The embarrassment from the incident had faded, but Harry was still thinking about Professor Snape's words. _Your real friends won't care if it's a bit gross._ He ruminated on the thought a bit, before slipping on his shirt and stepping out of the bathroom with his toiletries.

Ron was already on his bed, setting his own alarm. It was then Harry made his decision.

"Hey, Ron? I need to talk to you about something."


	2. June 25, 1994

June 25, 1994

Sirius' favorite part about being free was being able to sleep as long as he liked. Oh, sure having a wand and all his friends around was great. Getting his godson to live with him was terrific. But sleeping in without a worry that he could be awakened any minute with news of his impending death, that was what got Sirius up in the mornings.

Well, _most_ mornings. This particular Saturday morning, Sirius awoke to a knock on his bedroom door. He glanced over at the clock on his nightstand, 5:00 AM ticking away in front of his bleary eyes. For a moment he seriously considered just ignoring it and going back to sleep. But then Harry's voice came from outside the door, a quiet little, "Sirius?" that had him on his feet before it quite registered.

There was a part of him that couldn't help but smile. He had Harry here. And Harry may be thirteen, but he still needed Sirius. There was still something he could do. Sirius opened his doors to reveal his sleepy godson.

"What's up kiddo?" Sirius said.

"Where do we keep the sheets?" Harry asked with a yawn. Sirius stepped out of the room and walked over to the hall closet.

"Right up here. Everything alright?" He asked, grabbing Harry down a new set of linens.

"Yeah. Just slept through my alarm and my bag leaked," Harry said, gesturing vaguely towards his stoma. "Happens."

"Right," Sirius said. "Do you um… need any help?"

Harry shook his head and took the sheets from him. "I'm old hat at this by now," Harry said. "I'll wash the sheets in the morning. Night Siri." Harry leaned up and gave Sirius a sleepy kiss on the cheek. Sirius smiled softly. He hadn't anticipated that his godson would be so affectionate, but it was a welcome surprise.

Sirius watched Harry amble back down the hall to his bedroom, and stayed there until Harry was in his room. It was only then that Sirius let his smile fall. Shaking his head, he went back to bed.

* * *

Sirius hadn't been sure what to think when Moony first told him about Harry's condition. Being Harry's teacher, Remus had had to be informed. But dealing with it as a teacher, and dealing with it as a guardian were two different things. Sirius wasn't sure where he stood.

Remus had said that Harry seemed very comfortable in his skin regarding his disability, and took it in good humor when his friends teased him about it. But Remus had also told Sirius about Harry's boggart during his first Patronus lesson.

Both Remus and Harry had been sure that his boggart would turn into a dementor. After all, that's why Remus had disallowed him to try it in class in the first place. But when Remus released the boggart, it was not a dementor. Harry's boggart had taken shape as himself. Except boggart-Harry was on his knees, screaming, his ostomy bag ripped off leaving Harry's stoma to spew blood and what Remus had delicately referred to as output across the floor. Remus ended up stepping in front of the boggart and taking care of it. Harry didn't look his professor in the eye for a week.

It was hard for Sirius to wrap his head around. Harry, his Harry, was disabled. Harry had a surgery in which his colon was removed, and part of his intestine was made to stick out from his stomach in order to work. Harry relied on an ostomy bag. These were all undeniable facts. But the idea that Harry could be sick could have something wrong with him didn't feel real. This disabled Harry didn't match up with the Harry Sirius saw every day. He would look at his godson doing summer homework at the kitchen table, or go flying with his friends, and wonder how on earth he was supposed to reconcile this happy normal teenager with someone who was sick.

He had vaguely asked Harry after the boy had moved in if there was anything he needed. Harry had just shrugged and said he'd let him know if he needed more bags, but that Pomfrey had duplicated a bunch for him and it wouldn't be a problem. That had been the end of that conversation.

Sirius caught himself looking over Harry's stomach occasionally, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of the stoma or ostomy bag peeking through Harry's shirt. He wondered vaguely what the stoma looked like or how it even worked. Sirius was too embarrassed to ask.

So instead Sirius ignored it. Harry seemed fine. He looked like he had a good handle on things. Sirius didn't see the point in embarrassing the both of them when there was no reason too. This was just a thing that Harry did. Sirius tried to put the idea as far out of his mind as he could.

* * *

The next reminder came a week later at breakfast. Ron and Hermione had slept over the night before, and the four of them were enjoying breakfast in the kitchen of Grimmauld place. Ron was in the middle of regaling the group with the sordid details accompanying the upcoming Quidditch World Cup when a loud gurgling sound akin to a clogged drain being unplugged interrupted.

All three kids began to giggle.

"Dammit Leroy!" Ron said jokingly. "Always stealing my thunder."

Harry laughed and placed a protective hand over his stoma. "Be nice. He's sensitive!"

"Oh, of course. I see where I stand in this friendship."

"Obviously, our friendship group from best to worst goes, me, Harry, Leroy, and then you," Hermione teased.

"Brightest witch of her age, my arse," Ron said. "More like the meanest witch of her age!"

The three began to laugh again.

Sirius gave a small cough. "Um, who's Leroy?"

"Oh, that's what we call Harry's stoma," Ron said as if that explained everything.

"You named your stoma?" Sirius asked, turning to Harry. That was a bit weird, right?

"Um, yeah," Harry said with a blush. "It was Hermione's idea. Cause I used to be embarrassed about it, and she read somewhere that a lot of people with ostomies name their stomas as a way to normalize it. So it's just like a part of me, you know, instead of some weird thing to be embarrassed about."

"Fred and George came up with the name, though," Hermione supplied. "Oliver Wood thought we should name it 'Finbar Quigley' after the Irish Chaser, but we all thought it was a bit of a mouthful."

"How many people know about your stoma?" Sirius asked with a frown.

Harry shrugged. "Just about everyone I guess. I mean I tried to hide it a lot at first, but once all the professors and my friends knew, it just seemed silly to hide it. I mean I'd rather just ask to leave class to deal with my ostomy bag than be all secretive about it and have people spread rumors that I'm getting special treatment cause I'm the Boy-Who-Lived."

Sirius nodded, unsure what to make of Harry's attitude. He couldn't understand how Harry was so okay with this.

"Can I get back to my story now?" Ron interrupted. That ended all conversation of Harry's stoma, and breakfast went on as normal until the kids had finished and elected to go down to road to the corner store for Muggle candy and fizzy drinks. Sirius supplied them with £40 in Muggle money and ignored the way Harry and Hermione's eyes widened at the amount. Sirius didn't know much about Muggle money, but he figured if he hadn't given them enough they could always come back to the house. He didn't need three hyperactive teenagers hopped up on sugar anyway.

Once they had left Sirius sat down at the table pressing his face into his palms. The conversation at breakfast had unsettled him. He wasn't sure how to come to terms with his new realization: Harry's condition made him distinctly uncomfortable. He didn't want to think about Harry's stoma and all the things that came along with it. The idea left a somewhat sick feeling in his stomach. He also wasn't prepared for the sheer amount of guilt that came along with this realization. He was Harry's guardian. He was supposed to be the adult in this situation, dammit! He was supposed to be on Harry's side, be the one Harry came to when he needed help. But Sirius didn't know how to help with this. Or, more to the point, Sirius wasn't sure if he could stomach what helping with this entailed.

The most he could do was try and deal with it, he supposed. There was nothing for it. It wasn't as if he could just send Harry back to the Dursleys, and there was no magic fix for what had been done to Harry. Sirius would simply buck it up and hope that there was never any real issues with Harry's disability that would require his help. And he would never, _ever,_ let Harry know about his doubts. It was the least he could do for his godson.

* * *

Of course, there came the point where ignoring it no longer was an option. A week before Harry's birthday, Sirius awoke to the unmistakable sound of someone vomiting. He was on his feet and in the bathroom down the hall from Harry's room before he could even quite register what was happening.

Sirius couldn't help the way his heart broke when he opened the bathroom door. Harry was curled up on the bathroom floor clutching his stomach. Tears were streaming down his face, mixing with the sweat that sat on Harry's clammy skin. Evidently, the flu that had been going around the Weasley household was in fact contagious.

Sirius sat on the floor next to Harry, running his hands through his hair. He could see the large stain on Harry's pajamas where his ostomy bag had leaked. Sirius helped Harry to his knees, pulling his godson close to him, whispering soothing words.

"It's alright. You're okay," he said, holding Harry close. Harry was burning up. His godson couldn't respond beyond crying into Sirius' shoulder.

He wasn't sure how long he had sat there, alternating between holding Harry and rubbing Harry's back while the boy was sick. He vaguely registered that the leak from Harry's bag had gotten onto his own clothes, but found that he didn't quite care. Harry was what was important just then.

After a while, it seemed Harry was done being sick.

"Okay," Sirius said soothingly. "We're going to get you cleaned up and get some potions in you. Then I think you're in need of a good long sleep. How does that sound?"

Harry nodded sleepily, and let Sirius prop him against the cabinet and fill the tub with lukewarm water. It was only when Sirius went to remove Harry's pajamas that Harry protested.

"No," He said, pushing Sirius' hand away from his nightshirt. "Don't want you to see."

Sirius didn't think his heart could hurt more than it did at that moment.

"And here I thought it was my job to take care of you when you're sick," Sirius said. "Harry, I've changed your diapers. There's nothing I haven't seen."

"'S different," Harry mumbled.

"Maybe. But either way, it's my turn to be the adult just now. So if you'd let me try my hand at this whole parenting thing, I'd really appreciate it."

Harry either got Sirius' point or was too delirious to argue. Regardless, Harry allowed Sirius to remove his pajamas. Sirius hadn't been quite sure what to expect when he saw the ostomy bag. Perhaps something large and grotesque with tubes sticking out. Instead, it was just a small opaque plastic bag that appeared to be glued to Harry's right side. Gently, he unstuck the ostomy bag and vanished it, before casting a spell to clean off Harry's abdomen.

And there it was, Harry's stoma. It sat just above his pelvic bone. Just a pink fleshy bump about the size of a fist. No intense scarring or deformed skin. Just a pink bump and a couple of tiny scars around Harry's belly button. It wasn't particularly large or intimidating. In fact, Sirius couldn't help but notice how normal it all seemed. It looked different than another kid's stomach sure, but this was Harry. And this was Harry's stoma. And suddenly Sirius couldn't remember why he had been so uncomfortable with this, why the idea of this pink bump had scared him so much.

Sirius helped Harry into the tub before going to get the potions. Once Harry had been cleaned up and given a fever reducer potion, he was a bit more lucid. Or at least lucid enough to give Sirius instructions on how to help put a new ostomy bag on. Harry still seemed a bit embarrassed, but Sirius strangely found that he wasn't.

He helped Harry back into bed and was about to leave when Harry asked feebly "Stay please?"

Sirius smiled and crawled into the teenager's bed, letting Harry curl up around him. After a while, Harry had rolled over in his sleep, and Sirius found his hand resting on Harry's stomach. He felt the way his godson breathed, and held him close. Harry's hand, he noticed, was pressed against his stoma, as if the boy was protecting it in his sleep. Sirius put his hand over Harry's, feeling the bump where Harry's stoma was.

The last thing Sirius thought before he fell asleep was that, perhaps, Harry was the bravest kid he knew.

* * *

A/N: And here is the next part of the Bottle It Up 'verse. This series will be updated a lot less frequently than my other story and will often be out of chronological order. Hopefully, each chapter will be able to stand on its own. As another note, the whole "naming your stoma" thing is a very real thing. A lot of ostomy patients finds it helps normalize having a stoma.


End file.
